


through corrupted lungs

by rookerrogue



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nostalgia, Other, Relationship Discussions, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookerrogue/pseuds/rookerrogue
Summary: The door cracked open silently.  A shadow crossed the floor, hard to make out from the corner of his optic, and disappeared as the door hissed shut once more.Megatron sighed, leaning back against the berth.  “Soundwave, I told you I want to be alone.”An amused hum came from a darkened corner of the habsuite.  Megatron turned sharply and flicked the lights of the room on.Deadlock winced as he lifted a hand to shield his optics against the sudden light.  “Damn.  Would have thought you had enough of sitting in the dark.”“Drift?” Megatron said faintly.-Or; years after the Dead End, Megatron and Drift get a chance to speak.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Drift | Deadlock/Megatron, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, if you squint
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	through corrupted lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Flowers from a Sidewalk Crack & Two Cents from a Dead End Skiv](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943958) by [wallflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowers/pseuds/wallflowers). 



> This was made as a bday present for petra @weapon-up-wallflower on tumblr! essentially, fanfic of her EXCELLENT "soft memory errors" series. PLEASE go read it

Megatron was alone.

Though it wasn’t for lack of trying. His Decepticons had swarmed him the moment the Autobots had called for a retreat. Soundwave had refused to leave his side, pestering him with structures and strategies for their next attack. And of course, the medic, who had fought through the throng of concerned Decepticons, had been dogging him— forced to weld the remnants of his arm on the go, stabilizing the stump as much as possible before Megatron reached his makeshift quarters and slammed the door, leaving his Decepticons to their celebration.

The medic-- Megatron didn’t remember his name-- had lingered outside for some time, yelling something about nanite gel, but Megatron had ignored him. He hadn’t had any nanite gel in the gladiator pits and all of his limb-severings had healed just fine. Unconsciously, he laid a hand on his upper right thigh, reminiscing on the first. He could still remember the sharp, sudden pain of the energon blade and the way his opponent’s blue optics had sparked bright with fury and desperation. 

. . .  _ Blue.  _ No. The mech who’d taken his leg had been green, with a visor. What Megatron was remembering now was Optimus Prime.

Megatron sat on his berth, resting his helm in his remaining hand. Optimus  _ Prime.  _ If it wasn’t one Prime, it was another. To make matters worse, this one was proving to be much harder to kill. The Rorsha Campaign had been going relatively well until he’d turned up and. . . well. Iacon would have fallen had it not been for the Prime’s arrival. Megatron  _ knew  _ it.

This was worrying. To say that Megatron hadn’t planned for interference was hardly true, but Optimus demonstrated himself to be an unprecedented player in the game. He’d rallied the dwindling Autobot resistance and given them something—  _ someone _ to unite under. Autobot mismanagement had been Megatron’s greatest asset during the first stages of the war; he and his Decepticons were brass knuckles to the soft underbelly of the imprudent Autobot upper class, who had overwhelmingly spent too much time pontificating about whether they were in the right or not to mount any kind of meaningful counterattack. But now-- with  _ Optimus--  _ there was a structure, organization. They were more sure of themselves, becoming an almost functional army overnight and, frankly, transforming into a much more concerning force to be reckoned with. Who knew how much harder it would be to continue with his plans for the campaign--

The door cracked open silently. A shadow crossed the floor, hard to make out from the corner of his optic, and disappeared as the door hissed shut once more.

Megatron sighed, leaning back against the berth. “Soundwave, I told you I want to be alone.”

An amused hum came from a darkened corner of the habsuite. Megatron turned sharply and flicked the lights of the room on.

Deadlock winced as he lifted a hand to shield his optics against the sudden light. “Damn. Would have thought you had enough of sitting in the dark.”

“Drift?” Megatron said faintly.

“Hello.” Deadlock reached out to grab the chair at Megatron’s desk, spun it lightly on a leg and settled down in it, folding his arms on the backrest. He looked at Megatron, his eyes still glowing combat-ready red. 

“Only Soundwave has the code to come in,” Megatron said, for lack of anything else to say.

“Mmh. Got it from Ravage.”

Megatron sat forward in his seat, moving to rest his elbows on his knees before he remembered that one arm was still missing. He wrestled for something to say. He’d seen Deadlock since the beginning of the war, of course, but never. . . not one-on-one. Not since the Dead End. 

Deadlock’s eyes dropped to Megatron’s arm. “You haven’t had it reattached.”

“There’s no need, not right now.”

Deadlock gave him a look, reaching out and beckoning with his fingers for Megatron’s remaining hand. “You’ll get it done soon?”

“Yes.” Megatron put his hand into Drift’s, allowing the mech to pull a cloth from his subspace and begin cleaning the dried energon from between his joints. “Though there’s no real rush. With what I did to Prime, he’ll be out of action for some time.” 

A grimace crossed Deadlock’s face. Wordlessly, he rested Megatron’s hand on the back of the chair and began easing apart the plates of his palm, still tensed from battle. Megatron shuttered his optics and relaxed against the side of the berth again, finally allowing the combat subroutines that he’d had still running on repeat in the back of his mind to wind down. The fighting was over, he reminded himself. For now.

“Everyone’s talking,” Deadlock said, after a moment. “About you and. . . the  _ Prime.  _ How you two fought. They say you were more than a match for him.”

“I assume you watched.” 

“Yes. It was. . .” Deadlock’s voice changed for a moment, and Megatron onlined his optics to see the mech tilting his head, considering. “Encouraging.”

“How so?”

Deadlock blinked and turned back to Megatron, offering him a wry smile. “Turns out you know how to fight now.”

“You knew I did.” Megatron couldn’t help a responding smile from softening his glower. “You knew I was a gladiator.”

“Mmh. Makes it easier to believe, seeing you beat the self-righteousness out of Orion Pax.”

There was something ugly in Deadlock’s voice, and Megatron winced as the mech’s fingers tightened on his hand. Even so, he had no desire to pull away. “The  _ enforcer _ who declared himself Prime.”

“Yes, well.” Deadlock waved a hand in the air. “Was one hell of a surprise, wasn’t it? Him showing up. Still thinks he knows what’s best for Cybertron an’  _ everyone _ on it.” 

Deadlock’s history with the Dead End’s most thorough Enforcer was no secret to Megatron. This close, he could feel the barest wisps of hatred bleed from the gunner’s field.

“But-- enough of that.” Deadlock returned his attention to Megatron’s hand. 

“I’ll put him back where he belongs,” Megatron rumbled.

_ “Will  _ you?” Deadlock lifted his head and regarded Megatron lazily, a fingertip digging into his palm. “You’ll just go ahead and do that for me, hm? Guess you  _ could  _ now.” He chuckled, perhaps a bit bitterly, if Megatron wasn’t reading too much into it. “You’re not much like how I remember you, Megs.”

“Drift--”

“No,” Deadlock said firmly. “I ain’t the same either, am I?”

“. . . No,” Megatron said, after a moment.

“Yeah. Neither of us. This shitty world ate you up and spat out something new, didn’t it?” Deadlock shook his head. “I know the feeling. Weren’t the Dead End what got you, but-- all the same.” 

“It’s what I needed,” Megatron told him.

“Hm.” Deadlock managed to crack a screw open, and Megatron sighed in relief as his taut chiro-plates finally relaxed. “Just wanted to see if it was  _ really _ true.”

“Who I was back then-- I would never have gotten to where we are now.” Megatron lifted his hand and flexed it. Deadlock stood from his chair and turned it, sitting down to rest his chin on his fist. “I needed to see that violence was the only language they understood. Mecha like Orion Pax-- like all of them.” He sighed. “Words are useless against oppressors such as the Autobots. If I’d stood on Sherma Bridge and quoted  _ After the Ark  _ at Optimus Prime, he’d have given it five seconds of consideration before killing me and feeling badly for a month.”

Deadlock snorted. “Generous.”

“I’m only glad you’re here with me,” Megatron said honestly. “I’m glad you joined. I’m. . . I’m glad you’re here.”

“Mmh. I ain’t planning on going away any time soon, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about.” Deadlock lifted his chin and gestured at Megatron’s arm, or lack of one. “Although you do need to start figuring out how to deal with this. . .  _ Prime _ situation.”

“I know.” Megatron felt his worries start to nag at him again, an almost palpable dark cloud forming in his field. “I will.”

“One more thing.” Megatron looked up, noting the deadly seriousness that had laced Deadlock’s tone. “I haven’t been able to speak with you about this before, but-- it’s important that I tell you now.”

“What is it?”

“I saw-- there were medics today, out in the battle, and Ratchet was there.” Deadlock leaned forward, locking eyes with Megatron. “He’s not going to be harmed. By any Decepticon. Not now, or ever, no matter how long the war takes. Understood?”

Megatron considered him for a moment, several things clicking into place. “I think I do understand, yes.”

Deadlock curled his lip and looked away. “Good. You’ll announce it?”

Megatron nodded. Despite the realization that Deadlock harbored an affinity for an enemy solider and the way he’d ordered Megatron about-- both things, Megatron knew, he should be concerned about, as the leader of his Decepticons-- he harbored no doubts toward Deadlock. 

There was only a twinge of sadness, an echo of a feeling from long, long ago, for the ratification that Drift--  _ Deadlock  _ carried a torch for someone else. And that it was burning just as bright as it always had.

But that was neither here nor there, at least not in regards to Megatron.

“Anyway,” Deadlock said, standing from his chair, “don’t worry too much about the Prime. Just ‘cause you didn’t kill him today don’t mean you won’t kill him tomorrow.” He shot Megatron another crooked smile. “We didn’t spend millions of years in the dirt just for a hopped-up  _ former Enforcer  _ with a bauble in his chest to put us back down, huh?”

Megatron tilted his head. He wanted to smile back; instead, his remaining hand reached out, of its own accord, and trailed down the front of Deadlock’s chest, fingers brushing lightly over the Deceptibrand. 

Deadlock didn’t move, allowing Megatron’s hand to linger long enough that Megatron glanced up at him, questioning. Deadlock met his eyes. A thousand unsaid words passed between them, lost in the air.

Deadlock broke away first. He stepped backwards, turned on his heel and left without a sound, shutting the door carefully on his way out.

  
  


.

**Author's Note:**

> comments always appreciated! 
> 
> i'm on tumblr at @outlier-roddy <3


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